


It's For the Birds

by Draco_sollicitus



Category: Avatar: The Last Airbender
Genre: Alternate Universe - Pet Store, Birds, Bisexual Sokka, College AU, Fluff, Light Angst, M/M, Modern AU, Past Child Abuse, light cursing, meet cute
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-07-24
Updated: 2020-07-27
Packaged: 2021-03-05 03:28:20
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 6,528
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25477681
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Draco_sollicitus/pseuds/Draco_sollicitus
Summary: Sokka doesn't exactly love his job at Kenji's Pet Emporium; but, it helps pay his rent while he's studying at The University of Ba Sing Se. He's glad, really, that Aang got him this job after working some kind of magic with the owner.He's definitely glad he has the job when a cute stranger walks in, looking for help with his new pet.What he doesn't know is that Zuko, new bird owner and transfer student, has a lot of secrets he's never told anyone. Having a crush on the boy who works at the pet store is just the newest one.
Relationships: Sokka/Zuko (Avatar)
Comments: 108
Kudos: 517





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> HELLO!!! I was thinking about pet store AUs and flower shop AUs and decided that Zuko is 10000% a bird person, and that would beguile and amuse his doting boyfriend endlessly. So, here's a little meet-cute Modern-ish AU (it's in the avatar world, but no Fire Nation monarchy, and they have modern tech/studies/no bending).
> 
>  **warnings**  
>  References to Canon Character Death (Yue/Kya) and Sokka's grief from that -- **TW** self-destructing behaviors where he punched things/got into fights when he was sad  
> Zuko's POV reveals a history of mental illness stemming from **TW** child abuse  
> AND experiences with implied **homophobia** from Ozai
> 
> Also, Zuko and Sokka both check each other out (sexually) but they're both in their early twenties and it's non-graphic (they're just young adults with young adult feelings) but I wanted to put that warning in there just in case because it's rated t!

Black-banded rainbow fish and redeye tetra flash their fins in their glass display cases as afternoon sunlight trickles in lazily through the glass-front of the store; the only sounds are the aerators bubbling as they diffuse oxygen through the aquarium water, and the odd chirp from the birds that nestle in their cages and clack their enrichment toys as they get bored.

Sokka doesn’t really pay attention to any of it: his house growing up had been loud after all, the communal centerpoint for the Water Tribe refugees that had settled in Ba Sing Se after the encroaching threat of climate change had made their homes unlivable. 

Bato and his dad’s friends were always around growing up, especially after his mom died, shouting and laughing and trading stories until well past sunset most nights. On top of that, Katara tended to blast music top-volume when the mood seized her, and their large Huskies were always interested in talking away at Sokka as he studied on the couch. 

The quiet noises of Kenji’s Pet Emporium barely register to Sokka as he scratches his pencil along his matrixes, rubbing his forehead and grumbling at his TI-89 when it provides little to no help on the next problem.

“Stupid, ridiculous -- ugh!” His pencil lead snaps a little, and Sokka jabs the notebook in a fit of irritation. “You did that on purpose!”

“Talking to your homework again, Sokka?”

He doesn’t even look up. “It needs to know who’s boss.”

“I’m guessing you’re the boss!” Aang swings into view, his feet curled around a storage rack above the registers. 

“Just because you _can_ do gymnastics doesn’t mean you _should,_ ” Sokka says, using his eraser to poke Aang in the temple. His friend only laughs and swings up and out of the way. 

“Says who?”

“OSHA, for one.” 

Aang doesn’t even make a noise as he flips out of the storage racks and lands on his feet gracefully. Aang, while sweet, does tend to show off: he’s at The University of Ba Sing Se (or _TUBSS,_ as their friends have fondly dubbed it) on a full-ride gymnastics scholarship, which gives him plenty of time to study cultural anthropology.

And date Sokka’s sister, apparently. Sokka’s fine with it.

(Really. He is. Aang’s better than Jet. To be fair, a rabid warthog with open sores and an incontinence problem would be better than Jet -- but Aang’s _way_ better than Jet)

Regardless of Aang’s dating status, it’s his effortless charm and good nature that got them both a job here anyway. Mr. Kenji himself had hired Aang after he helped him with some sort of animal-whisperer thing, and Sokka had needed a job … so, here he is. Working at a pet store, knowing nothing about any kind of animal that isn’t a massive, chatty dog or the sort of animals that you eat.

“So why do you need to make your homework learn who’s boss?”

“Because.” Sokka glances down at his last matrix, sees where he’s messed up, and groans as he attacks it with the eraser. “It can’t defeat me.”

“I see.” Aang hops up and over the counter and heads towards the aquarium wall. “Well, do you think you could go defeat the customer bathroom? I did it this morning.”

“Fine.” Sokka throws his pencil down and brushes off some errant scraps of dirtied rubber. “Fine! This wasn’t going anywhere anyway.”

He hears the bell to the shop at least three times while he’s elbow-deep in trash, and Sokka takes his sweet time replenishing the soap dispenser. Maybe it’s his problem set, or maybe it’s his current grade in Art History (seriously, who decided general education credits were a good idea?), but Sokka’s in no mood to chat up customers. 

After ten minutes of half-assed cleaning, Sokka drags himself back to the counter and resumes his slumped position over his notebook. In his peripheral, he’s aware of a guy shuffling through the bird stuff, and he can still hear Aang chatting away to someone about the dangers of having an outdoor cat.

“Sokka!” Aang emerges with a small, smiling girl, who’s holding a cat carrier; deeply unhappy growls issue from the mesh covering. “Can I use the register?”

“Sure.” Sokka shrugs and scoots down the counter, carrying his notebook with him. He offers the girl with the cat a polite smile and then glances to the bird section to see what their other customer is getting up to.

The other customer has a red hoodie on, and shaggy black hair that almost hits his shoulders; he’s slim, and his dark grey jeans sit low on his slender hips. There’s a messenger bag over his shoulder, and as he leans up on his toes to grab something on a top shelf, Sokka sees a pale strip of skin where his hoodie rides up and over the top of his pants.

His face feels flushed. _He’s definitely checking that guy out._

Sokka forces himself to look back at his problem set, and with one finger, he shoves his wire frame glasses back up his nose. He sniffs once and then glares down at his math as though it’s the reason why he hasn’t so much as gone on a date in six months.

(To be fair, given the rigor of TUBSS’s engineering program, his homework actually _is_ the reason why he hasn't gone on a date in six months)

Aang finishes up with Cat Girl and starts to rearrange layaway items behind the counter, shifting through items while humming a happy tune; he wanders out to the floor here and there to put an item out on display. Sokka’s fingers clack against his TI-89’s keys as he tries another configuration, and Aang’s voice calls him out of his forced-math-stupor.

“Hey! Can we help you find anything?”

“Oh. No … no thanks.” 

Sokka looks up at the voice, which is undeniably distinctive: raspy, almost hoarse, but certainly not unpleasant.

His faces heats up _again_ because the owner of the voice is also distinctive.

Bird Section Stranger is fiddling with the strap of his messenger bag, confronted with a brightly smiling Aang. And his face. It’s a nice face. Yeah. Sokka would rate it as … up there. Like, Top Five. Maybe Top Two.

Aang doesn’t give up that easy. “Do you have a bird?”

“Y-yeah.” The guy doesn’t sound so sure about that. “It was a gift.”

“Oh.” Aang frowns, and Sokka can sense an _animals aren’t good gifts!_ speech from a mile away, so he stands up taller and sets his pencil down.

“Hey, Aang, didn’t you need to lead the small rodent care lesson this afternoon?”

“Uh. Yeah?” Aang turns and blinks, confused; the stranger does too, but Sokka avoids looking at him for now.

“Well, it starts in thirty minutes. You should probably go set up.”

“I should?” Something twinkles in Aang’s grey eyes, and then he grins mischievously, his eyes darting between Sokka and the other boy. “Riiiight. I should! See ya!” He darts off towards the stairs to the back of the store, and spins to give Sokka an ornery wink before disappearing out of view.

Sokka lifts his eyebrows and shakes his head. “He’s an eager kid,” he notes, turning to the stranger, who’s turned towards the door. All Sokka can see of him is his - admittedly glorious - profile.

“I can see that.” 

Figuring that’s all he’s going to get out of the handsome customer, Sokka shrugs and goes back to his notebook. Not even five seconds later though, he’s aware of a person approaching the counter, and he looks up, surprised, to see the customer standing there.

He’s even more surprised when he realizes that half the customer’s face is covered in deep, angry burn scars.

Sokka likes to think he’s in control of his expression, so he sets his pencil down again and clears his throat. “Can I help you?”

“Maybe.” The boy shifts his messenger bag slightly and grasps the strap tightly; his eyes avoid Sokka’s in favor of staring at the floor. Worse, his shoulders are rounded inward, like he’s protecting himself.

Sokka eyes the burn scars again, the deliberate placement, the controlled shape of it. Maybe the boy has a good reason to protect himself.

“The bird. He’s bored.”

“Your bird is bored,” Sokka repeats slowly. “Did he … tell you that himself?”

“What? No. He’s not the talking kind of b-” The boy blinks and looks up. “Was that a joke?”

“I’d say _obviously,_ but if it were obvious, you probably would have laughed.” Sokka smiles though, trying to show no harm done.

The boy’s cheeks turn pink and he looks back down at his feet. “Oh. Sorry.” 

“Geez, you don’t have to laugh at my jokes, buddy. Literally no one else in my life does.”

“I think I know a joke.” A strange statement, and Sokka waits patiently to hear it, in case that’s the direction this is going. “Well. I know the punchline. It’s pretty funny.”

“If you remember the set-up, you should come back and tell it to me.”

The boy nods seriously, and Sokka feels a weird tug in his stomach; maybe it’s the other boy’s expression, where it’s obvious he’s not usually invited back to places.

Something in his gut says _he’s trouble._ Sokka doesn’t care about that. 

(He broke every window in their garage the night Yue died. He used his fist to do it. He broke seven bones. He can tell when it’s going to rain, now. He got into fights every week after his mother died. He’s used to being trouble; why would he care if this boy was, too?)

“What kind of bird do you have?” Sokka asks to change the subject, back towards something logical.

“A budgie.” The boy’s mouth twitches upward. “My uncle gave him to me last week.”

“And now he’s bored,” Sokka says.

“And now he’s bored.”

Aang comes rattling out from the enrichment room downstairs and takes the steps two at a time; in his arms are squirming chinchillas. 

“Hey, Aang. Any idea how to entertain a bored budgie?” Sokka asks casually, and Aang pauses for a moment, his lips pursed as he legitimately considers the question.

“Does he have any ladders?” Aang asks; he scoops up an escaping chinchilla that’s wiggling up his arm and holds it more carefully.

“Ladders?”

“Budgies like to climb.” Aang scoots over to the carriers behind the counter and loads all three chinchillas he’s been juggling into a medium-sized cage with clean sawdust already spread on the bottom. “You should get him a ladder. And a mirror! Birds love mirrors.”

“I had no idea,” the boy says slowly. “I’m … kind of underprepared for this.”

“Well.” Aang fastens the top of the cage. “That’s why it’s never a good idea to give-”

Sokka places a hand between Aang’s bony shoulders and shoves, a little uncharitably, before he can say _animals as gifts._ “Thanks, Aang.”

He gets a glare over the shoulder in response, and Sokka returns his attention to their customer. 

“So, a ladder.”

“Do you guys … sell … bird ladders?”

“I guess.” Sokka shrugs and tucks his pencil behind his ear so it can’t roll away or be stolen by elves while he’s gone. “C’mon, let’s go check.”

He’s painfully aware of every step he takes as he leads their customer down the aisles to the bird toys. Thankfully, he spots the ladders pretty quickly, and he steps to the side and watches the boy study the different ladders as though he were picking a presidential candidate and not a seven dollar enrichment item.

“Do you think this is a good one?” He asks uncertainly, taking a bright orange one down off the hooks. 

“Sure.” Sokka shrugs. “I don’t know anything about birds, though.”

“That makes two of us.” 

The next smile they exchange feels natural, unforced, and Sokka feels a little warm around the ears again.

As quickly as it appears, the boy’s smile disappears as his eyes drift downwards again. “Thanks, um, Haru.”

Sokka startles. “What?” Then, he looks down at his shirt and groans, tugging at his nametag. “No, this is my friend’s nametag. I’m Sokka.”

“Sokka,” the boy repeats softly, clutching the ladder and a tiny cheap mirror to his chest. 

“What’s your name?”

_What’s your name? What is your NAME? Why are you still talking to a customer? You hate customers! Get out of there! Now! Go hide in the bathroom until he leaves! No, wait, he has to buy this stuff. Ugh!_

_Oh, his eyes are gold. That’s a nice color. Hm._

_NO! Customer = enemy._

“Zuko,” the boy answers shyly while Sokka struggles with the ancient conflict of _retail worker versus customer_ as it clashes up against the powerful call of his sex drive when very handsome guys are involved.

“Alright, Zuko. Do you think that’s everything you need?” Sokka runs his hand along the shaved side of his head, strangely wondering if his undercut-and-long-hair-on-top look is something that Zuko would find cool.

“Yeah.” Zuko nods once and then waits for Sokka to move back towards the register.

His hands mess up a few times as he types in his password, but it’s not like Sokka can blame Zuko for that - the boy is staring out the window, his face still weirdly pink like he’s overheating in that baggy sweatshirt. 

“That’ll be twelve dollars,” Sokka reports after scanning both items. “Cash or credit?”

“Credit,” is the soft answer, and Zuko fishes in his pockets for a beat-up debit card.

Sokka spots the name as he goes to swipe it: _Zuko Sozin._ His mouth goes dry as his stomach tightens. Sozin. As in _the_ Sozins. Oil titans, pipeline builders, earth destroyers. He’s pretty sure Katara and Aang have protested outside Sozin Industries at least fifteen times in the last three years.

“Do you want your receipt?” He forces himself to ask, his voice coming out a little strangled.

“No, thank you.” Zuko blinks and then ducks his head. “No. Wait. Yes, actually. Please.”

Sokka shrugs, not even knowing why that became an ordeal, and he hands Zuko his slip of paper. When he assumes that the transaction is over, and he can go back to ignoring his work in peace, Zuko looks down and tilts his head.

“Is that … math?”

“Uh. Yes?” Sokka glances at his matrices. 

“There’s … there’s no way that’s math.” Zuko shakes his head, aghast. “I took math in high school. It did _not_ look like that.”

“Eh. It’s not as fun as vector calculus, but it’s not the worst thing.”

“Do you … go to the university?” Zuko eyes the door, and he looks like he’s about to bolt, even if he’s the one who’s maintaining this conversation.

Even though Sokka really doesn’t want to be at work, he finds that he doesn’t mind talking to Zuko. Zuko is handsome, and cute, and likes his bird, and … may be part of an evil family, but he’s not exactly asking Sokka to Sunday dinner at the moment.

“Yep. Aerospace engineering.” Sokka sizes him up and decides they’re definitely the same age. “Do you go there, too?”

“Yeah. I … just transferred in. From Caldera.” 

Sokka whistles; Caldera is the most prestigious private school, ever. It’s designed to create politicians, world leaders … CEOs of evil corporations.

“What are you majoring in?”

He expects him to say Business. Economics. Marketing.

“Um…” Zuko ducks his head again and mumbles: “ _I’mstudyingArtHistoryandTheater._ ”

“Sorry what?” Sokka hadn’t quite caught that.

“Art History.” Zuko releases a tense breath. “And Theater.” The look in his golden eyes when he lifts his chin is bizarrely defiant, like he thinks Sokka is going to make fun of him.

“Ugh. Art History. My Art History class is kicking my ass,” Sokka groans. 

“If it’s any consolation, whatever … hell-Math that is would definitely kick my ass. That’s why I’m just a theater major.”

Sokka frowns at the disparaging tone. “Are you kidding me? I love art and all that stuff, but I’m awful at it. Really bad. If you’re a theater major, that must mean you really care about it.”

Zuko nods but looks away, his jaw tight. “I have to go,” he says suddenly. “Um. Sorry for … for taking you away from that matrix stuff.”

“That’s more than okay,” Sokka promises him. Weirdly enough, he means it. “I hope your bird likes the new toys.”

“Thanks.” Zuko’s next smile is nothing short of breathtaking, and Sokka feels like he’s been slapped by the sun. “And thanks for your help, Sokka. I hope you have a pleasant day.”

“See ya,” Sokka says dazedly as Zuko walks swiftly out the door; the bell jangles overhead, and Sokka watches the thin boy walk away for at least ten seconds before he shakes himself and slumps back over his notebook, thoroughly scolding himself for staring at a stranger’s butt, _twice_ in one afternoon.

He sighs more than once over the next hour, and Sokka can’t even lie to himself and say that it’s the matrices and vectors making him moon away, glancing at the windows every now and then in case Zuko walks by again. By the end of his shift, he can’t deny it anymore.

He has a crush. On a customer. Great.

His life is a cliche.

* * *

“How was your day today, nephew?” Iroh asks as he pours two steaming cups of tea.

Zuko takes his mug gratefully and watches his uncle inhale the steam. “Good.”

“Oh!” Iroh looks delighted. “That is good to hear. I know Thursdays are hard for you with your appointments.”

He winces and nods. “It was … fine today. I bought some toys for Druk while I was out.”

As though he could hear his name, his little budgie whistles cheerfully in the corner of the living room, and Iroh’s smile widens.

“I am so glad to hear that you are making progress with your doctor, Zuko. I must admit, I was worried about the transition when you moved cities and schools in such a short amount of time.” 

Zuko nods, not sure what else to say; he really doesn’t want to talk about therapy, but he knows Iroh won’t push. His uncle is just talking in that overtly soothing way of his. Zuko takes a sip of his tea, letting the hot bite of it wash over his tongue.

“Have you made any friends at school?” Iroh asks a moment later, and Zuko stares at the grains of wood in their tea table.

“No.”

He can _feel_ Iroh deflate.

“But. I think I met someone who could be a friend today.” Zuko looks up to see his uncle’s eyes shining hopefully. “His name is Sokka. He seemed nice.”

What he doesn’t say is: _he was only nice to me because it was his job._

What he doesn’t say is: _we’re never actually going to be friends, but maybe if I were a different person we could be._

What he doesn't say is: _I think he’s the most beautiful person I’ve ever seen, and I wanted him to pick me up and pin me against a wall but also hold me like I was something important and small and I wanted him the second I saw him and there’s no way_ that’s _ever going to happen, so maybe it’s best that we aren’t friends._

He definitely doesn’t say that last part out loud. He doesn’t know what his Uncle would say. He knows what Iroh’s brother would say. He bears the scars still from what Iroh’s brother would say, and did say, and will say. 

Zuko offers Iroh a smile as his uncle waxes on and on about the importance of good friends and how they’re like a soothing cup of tea. And he doesn’t say anything about how his stomach felt like he’d skipped a step when he saw Sokka working in his notebook at the counter of that little store.

That night, when he’s gone to bed on the pull-out couch in Uncle’s living room, he rolls onto his side and watches Druk admire himself in the mirror, pecking at it happily here and there.

“I guess you’d like a friend, huh?” He asks Druk softly. He gets a little whistling chirp in response, and Zuko nods, his throat tight. “Yeah. Me too.”

When he dreams, he sees blue eyes, glasses, and broad shoulders; and when he wakes up, Zuko twists his fingers together and stares at the ceiling, counting a dozen good reasons why he shouldn’t go back to Kenji’s Pet Emporium. 

He finds himself there anyway two days later, waiting in the doorway with a half-excuse of ‘Druk needs more feed,’ in his back pocket. 

Sokka doesn't ask for an excuse though. He looks up from his notebook with a real smile and says, “Welcome back, buddy,” and Zuko tries his hardest not to hear _welcome home._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> !!!!!!
> 
> (this has SUCH a potential to be a slow-burn long-ish fic where Sokka helps his cute bird boyfriend heal from his past trauma but anyway, as the name implies, the current idea of this fic is just 'for the birds' aka it's a little useless, silly idea that I just wanted to write!)
> 
> Thank you for letting me be self-indulgent! I'd love to hear your thoughts!!!


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sokka flails around about his crush; Zuko isn't doing much better (Aang plays matchmaker)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> HELLO!
> 
> You all were SO kind about chapter one, that I figured a chapter two (and three, etc) might be in order. If you're ready for more Modern!Zukka, here's some dorks falling in love over a bunch of birds.
> 
>  **Potential Warnings**  
>  Zuko has a panic attack  
> Self-loathing  
> Negative self-talk  
> It's implied that Katara and Aang are having sex/a sexual relationship - they're both over 18 (Aang is 20, Katara is 21) but ...I know it could still be weird!

Zuko always comes in on Thursdays.

Sokka tries not to actively think about it beyond the part where he always tells Mr. Kenji that he’s fine with coming in on Thursday afternoons, 3:00 to close. It’s not that he enjoys giving up Thursday afternoons, it’s just that it’s the only time he can make sure Zuko even exists.

Because he doesn’t see him on campus; he doesn’t see him at the bars; he doesn’t see him at the Rec Center; he doesn’t even see him on the street.

Sometimes, he sees a red sweatshirt out of the corner of his eye and he’ll crane his neck to see who it is. He’ll even do a double take if the figure looks remotely thin with dark hair. But it’s never Zuko, and Sokka always groans to himself and spends the next three minutes locked in an inner monologue where he makes fun of himself for having a stupid crush on a boy who only talks to him when his birds need something.

Four Thursdays in a row, Zuko’s stumbled into their shop. He asks Aang where to get another budgie, asks what size cage he needs, what type of absorbent bedding, what kind of food. It gets to the point that Sokka uses some of his time off to google stuff about birds.

Yeah. It’s a crush. He’s done stupider stuff for a crush.

(Like that time he tried to ride a motorcycle because Suki knew how to ride one and he’d never ridden one before but she was so pretty and she asked him if he wanted to ride with her and ... Sokka doesn’t think he’s ever seen Katara, who had been the EMT in the ambulance that came to pick him up, so furious)

But Zuko smiles so brightly the first time Sokka makes a semi-intelligent suggestion about his birds - Druk, the original budgie, and Roku, the second - that the painstaking thirty minutes on Google seem very much worth it.

Even if Sokka does shove Aang off a stool the second Zuko walks out of the shop; it’s not Sokka’s fault.

“What was that for?” Aang demands from the floor, one foot still on his stool from where he tried to save himself.

“You know what it’s for,” Sokka says, pushing Aang’s foot the rest of the way off.

“What, a guy can’t hum now?”

“Not when it’s the Wedding March!”

“Hm-hmhmhm. Hmm-hm-hmhm!”

“You’re dead meat.”

Sokka dives to the floor to catch his friend, growling dramatically. Aang squawks with little to no dignity and rolls out of Sokka’s grip, slippier than an eel. Sokka lies in wait though. He’s patient. He comes from a line of warriors, of hunters. He waits it out.

When Aang comes out of the bathroom, flipping through texts on his phone, Sokka springs out from around the corner and sprays him in the face with a Super Soaker that Toph had left lying around last week after she proved that no, you do not need to be able to see to kick everyone’s ass.

“Ha!” Sokka shouts, pumping his fists in the air. 

“Well, then.” Aang uses his yellow sweatshirt sleeve to mop the dripping water from his chin. “So that’s how it is.”

“Mhm.” Sokka sticks his tongue out of his mouth and takes aim again; with a sigh, Aang tucks his phone safely in his pocket and stands there patiently as Sokka dumps out the entirety of the Super Soaker on him. 

“Are you done?” Aang asks, with all the air of a hundred-year-old man and not a kid who can’t even legally drink yet.

“Why, yes, I believe my work here  _ is  _ done.” Sokka pretends to blow smoke off the end of the water gun and then fake-holsters it with a smirk.

“I’ll go back to texting Zuko.” Aang pulls his phone out of his pocket casually, and Sokka drops the Super Soaker with a clatter.

“Wait, what?”

“Mhm. Got his number from a friend.” Aang whistles nonchalantly and side-steps Sokka down the hallway. “Now he can ask me questions about birds whenever he wants.”

“Uh-”

“I was going to give you his number,  _ but _ …” Aang sighs. “My fingers are just too slippery now.”

“Well, that’s fine.” Sokka crosses his arms and scowls at Aang, who’s propped up against the wall now, eyes on the front in case a customer comes in. “I didn’t want his number anyway.”

“Hm. Okay!” Aang smiles brightly again and keeps texting.

“You probably don’t even have his number.”

Aang’s phone dings, his finger swipes, and his laughter chimes out like a damn brass bell. “Wow, Zuko’s funny.”

“Gimme that.” Sokka lunges for the phone, and Aang twists out of the way and does a full flip with no hands.

“Nuh-uh.” Aang looks positively wicked, a weird look on the normally beatific young man. “You’ll have to ask him yourself now.”

“I swear to La and Tui, Aang, if you don’t hand me that phone-”

The bell jangles over the door to the shop, and Aang steps expertly out of arms’ reach of Sokka to greet the customer.

“Wow, that’s a  _ lot  _ of snakes! My friend Sokka can help you, ma’am, I have to go clean up a spill near the bathroom.”

“Great.” Sokka mutters under his breath as he walks up to the woman who  _ is  _ carrying three snakes with her bare hands. “Um. Can I interest you in a cage?”

* * *

Sokka spends the next week in a terrible mood. Probably because he gets assigned the worst problem set of the semester, and probably because he gets his next quiz back in Art History with a whopping 64% written on the top.

Aang finds him collapsed over his notebook at the counter, the quiz sticking out of it, painfully obvious. “That’s eighteen percent better than last time!” He says approvingly, patting Sokka on the back.

“Mrrgh.” Sokka flaps a hand at his optimistic friend and doesn’t move. “Leave me here.”

“I brought cake.”

Sokka sniffs the air and lifts his head. “...Vegan cake?” He’s tried a few of Aang’s less accomplished vegan cakes in the past.

“I mean, there isn’t any milk.”

Sokka squints suspiciously.

“...or eggs.”

“Then what  _ is  _ in it?”

“Applesauce!” Aang holds up the tupperware triumphantly, and Sokka takes an experimental sniff. It passes the smell test, so he takes the offered slice and munches on it.

He has to admit, it’s pretty good. Something catches his attention though, so he snatches the tupperware out of Aang’s hands. “Wait a second.”

“Uh.”

“This is Katara’s tupperware!” 

“Yes, yes it is.” Aang takes a tiny step back.

“Did you bake an entire cake when you two were hanging out last night?” Sokka laughs and sets the tupperware back on the counter, polishing off his slice of cake in the next movement. “What a weird way to spend your time.”

“Well, we had like forty-five minutes where-” Aang trails off, and Sokka turns to him slowly, rotating on the stool to stare at him with dead eyes. “Uh.” Aang turns bright red. “Y’know. When we were … watching … TV.”

“Katara doesn’t own a TV.”

“Right, well-” Aang laughs nervously, and then Sokka’s brow furrows more.

“Wait wait wait -- did you even come home last night?”

Aang makes a small squeaky noise that Sokka would acknowledge was cute if he wasn’t trying to glare at Aang (truthfully, he doesn’t really care. They’re having sex. He knows it. Their neighbors know it. It’s just … fun to tease Aang).

“Hey! Zuko! Welcome back!” Aang calls out over Sokka’s shoulder, and Sokka snorts, poking at Aang’s leg.

“Nice try, I’m not gonna-”

“Hi.”

Sokka nearly falls off his stool as he swivels around to face Zuko; he catches himself by the fingertips and smiles in what must be a deranged way. “Uh. Hi!”

Zuko looks exhausted, and that has Sokka frowning immediately; they make eye contact for what’s realistically three seconds but feels like an hour, so he grabs his highlighter and returns to his textbook, coughing lightly into his right hand.

“What brings you in today?” Aang asks, clearly relieved by the arrival of Zuko.

“I … had a question,” Zuko says hesitantly. 

Sokka frowns, but keeps highlighting the passage that reads  _ “inequalities, such as the four given in Pablo’s problems, are often called  _ **_constraints_ ** _ and values of the variables that satisfy these constraints comprise the so-called  _ **_feasible region_ ** _.”  _

He doesn’t ask why Zuko wouldn’t simply text Aang if he had a question. It’s definitely not a conundrum that’s been hanging over his head since he found out Aang had Zuko’s number: he definitely wasn’t upset at all this week thinking that Zuko would stop coming in because now he can simply text his concerns to Aang, who is definitely the animal expert between them.

“What do you do with a duck?” Zuko asks timidly.

Sokka swaps out his highlighter with a pen to write  _ Pablo’s Problem  _ next to a set of provided constraints in his textbook while answering. “Braise it, I guess.”

“NO!” Zuko half-shouts. “No, Agni no - a living duck!”

“Like? How do you kill it?” Sokka asks, frowning as he looks up at that. 

Zuko looks horrified now, and he glances at Aang imploringly. “I don’t want to kill him!!”

“Sokka!” Aang hisses, nudging Sokka’s arm. “Zuko  _ adopted  _ the duck.”

“What animal shelter in the city lets you adopt a duck?” Sokka asks, confused as he tucks his pen into the textbook and closes it. He props his chin on the heel of his hand and frowns up at Zuko, who rubs his neck and looks away under the scrutiny.

“I …. didn’t adopt it,” Zuko admits.

“You bought it?” Aang guesses.

Zuko turns bright red, way worse than his normal blushing. When he shakes his head, his shaggy black hair flops over his ears. It’s ridiculously cute.

(Ugh. Go on a date, Sokka. Probably not with the cute boy who you’ve spoken to five times. He doesn’t even really know you exist outside this store. Retail employee + Customer = disaster. Think of the Yelp reviews. Think of Mr. Kenji. Think of how pretty Zuko’s eyes are when he smiles.  _ No. Wait. Don’t do that _ \- ugh)

“You  _ stole _ a duck?” Aang pieces it together faster than Sokka.

Zuko splutters for a moment before snapping back with, “I liberated the duck!!”

“Right on,” Sokka says, mildly impressed. 

“Theft is--” Aang draws himself up, but deflates under the look Sokka shoots him. “I’m sure you had your reasons.”

“Yep.” Whatever they are, Zuko doesn’t explain them. “...so. How do I take care of a duck?”

“Come with me.” Aang gestures to the bird section, and Zuko gives Sokka the tiniest of smiles as he passes the counter.

“Another quiz?” He asks in that rough-shy why of his, nodding at Sokka’s quiz.  _ Great. Now he knows how dumb I am at Art History _ .

“Slightly better than the last,” Sokka confirms, which earns him a bigger smile.

“Um. I was thinking.” Zuko grips his messenger bag and stares at the floor as he speaks. “I could help you. With the class?”

Sokka’s sure he looks like some giant owl, blinking at Zuko behind his wire frames.

“Or not,” Zuko says, twice as quickly as before. “It’s just, it’s one of my majors, and-”

“That’d be great,” Sokka says dazedly. 

_ He’s asking to spend time with us! Yes! We can ask for his phone number! We might be able to text him for other reasons! We can see him outside this stupid store! _

_ ….We need to stop using ‘we.’  _

“Great,” Zuko echoes faintly, and they’re both about to say something when Aang calls down from the bird section.

“Zuko! Little help here!” There’s a faint crash, and Zuko flinches a little before laughing.

“I’ll be right -” He gestures vaguely, and Sokka nods, grinning.

Of course, a woman with two teacup dogs comes wandering in and asks for Sokka’s help carrying over fifty pounds of goods from around the store; of course, it takes ten minutes; of course by the time Sokka slumps back to the counter, Zuko is gone and Aang’s spinning on the stool.

“Where’s Zuko?” Sokka asks grumpily, slapping his textbook open.

“He looked at his phone and rushed out of here three minutes ago.” Aang smiles apologetically, still spinning. “Sorry, buddy.”

“Mrrgh.” Sokka grabs his textbook and his crappy Art History quiz and sprawls out on the ground, back to the counter.

Aang pats his head a second later, and Sokka flaps his hand at Aang with a half-assed attempt to defend his hair.

“He’ll be back,” Aang says encouragingly. “You’ll see.”

“Mhm.” Sokka eyes Aang carefully. “Any chance you’ll give me his number?”

“...I’ll think about it. I’d feel bad giving someone’s number away, actually. Feels like a betrayal of trust.”

Sokka groans and buries his face in his knees; Aang takes mercy on him and handles the next dozen customers on his own.

* * *

Zuko checks his phone when it buzzes unexpectedly; he’s sprawled out on the couch, knee bouncing as he tries to get through the book for the next play they’re putting on.

He’s not going to be on stage, of course. No. As one theater director told him, kindly enough, there’s a difference between stage makeup and the makeup they’d have to use to …

She’d trailed off, but Zuko knew what she was saying.

So, he does lights and sound and behind-the-scenes stuff that he thinks is more important than acting, anyway. Zuko likes making things work, and he likes working with the castmates. He doesn’t like this play though. Ridiculous melodrama.

The text is from Aang, the nice kid from the pet store who totally can tell that Zuko’s nursing a crush the size of a sunspot on Sokka.

[Aang, 8:32 PM]: Hey! I hope everything’s okay. You ran out of here pretty fast earlier.

Zuko’s eye twitches as he considers all the things he could text back.

_ Sorry, had a panic attack and ran out of there before I did something stupid like cry. _

_ No, I’m okay. The idea of actually seeing Sokka outside the pet store made me simultaneously happy and nauseated. _

_ Hey, Aang. Zuko here. I’m a total loser, and while you seem like a great kid, it’s probably best if you stop bothering with this texting me thing because you’re also probably really smart and are going to discover what a useless piece of crap I am like everyone else. _

Zuko curls his fingers into a fist and lets out his breath slowly.

“That’s him talking,” Zuko whispers to himself, tears in his eyes. “That’s him. You don’t think that. You aren’t useless. You do useful things.”

“Zuko?” Iroh comes to the living room, the hallway light on; it casts a gentle light over him as he smiles down at his nephew. “Are you on the phone?”

“No, Uncle.” Zuko grimaces and drops his phone. “I’m - sorry. I didn’t mean to disturb you.”

“Disturb me?” Iroh chuckles kindly. “I think you will find that hard to do. I will be going to bed now though, and if you did wish to make a phone call-”

“I’m just texting.” Zuko winces at how harsh that had sounded. “Thank you, Uncle.”

“Goodnight, nephew.”

Zuko tries to smile back, but as Iroh walks away, Zuko rubs at the tight skin around his scar and feels his mouth collapse back into a scowl.

He types, deletes, types, deletes a dozen times before he’s satisfied with his answer:  _ I’m fine, Aang, just had to take care of something. _

(and Zuko likes little Toph from the tea shop, tough-talking, shit-stirring Toph with her bizarrely muscled arms and propensity to go barefoot although it’s a health code violation, but he  _ really  _ wishes she hadn’t given his number to Aang because  _ what if Aang gives his number to Sokka  _ and then he’ll have to text Sokka and-”

“You’re spiralling,” Zuko mutters to himself. He forces his thumb to hit send. 

“Carpet.” He digs his toes into the floor. “Couch.” He leans back against the sofa. “Tea.” He smells the herbal tea Iroh had poured for them after dinner. “TV.” He glances at the device. 

“You’re fine,” he tells himself softly. “You’re f-”

His phone buzzes again.

[Aang, 8:46 PM]: My girlfriend is having a party tomorrow if you want to come! 

Zuko stares at the text, completely befuddled. Why did Aang want him there? Can’t he see how weird Zuko is?

Before he can figure it out, another text comes through:  _ And Sokka will be too. _

Zuko’s good eye widens painfully. 

_ No,  _ he types a few times,  _ thanks, but I’m busy. No, thanks but I don’t like parties. No, thanks but I’ve got a really busy day throwing myself in the sun. _

Somehow, his thumbs are compelled to type out  _ Sure, thanks. _

Then, as he’s muttering to himself and fumbling with the screen, Fang wakes up and quacks, startling him enough that he presses send.

“Fang!” He hisses at the unrepentant duck. “Why did you do that, huh?”

This wakes Druk and Roku up, and then Zuko slaps his hands to his face and groans, tilting his head back to the couch as he flails around.

Throwing his phone on the coffee table, Zuko stands up and yanks his pullout bed from the sofa. Fang watches him, still cheerfully unaware of how he’s ruined Zuko’s life, and Zuko spends a few minutes deep breathing and holding the budgies before he lets them back into their cage.

Fang waddles over and hops up into the bed next to Zuko.

“No.” He points to the bathroom where Iroh has set up a very nice duck bath for the night. “That’s your bed.”

Fang honks a little and scoots in closer, and Druk and Roku egg him on from their perch.

“Guh.” Zuko sighs and pats Fang’s head as he grabs his phone to set up his alarms for the morning.

There’s a text from Aang that simply has an address; Zuko stares at it for five seconds before groaning and turning on his alarm for 4:45 AM. 

“This is going to go pretty badly, huh?” He asks Fang, who quacks and flutters his tail before his head droops down to rest on Zuko’s flat belly. “...Thanks, buddy.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So what do you think?!?! How many chapters will these nerds need before they learn how to just let go and fall in love?!? Will Zuko become Sokka's Art History tutor?! What will happen at Katara's party?!!?!? (HOW MANY BIRDS WILL ZUKO ADOPT?!)
> 
> thank you for reading, and thank you to everyone who's shared their thoughts so far!


End file.
